


All the Burning Lovers

by tangledineden



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Angst, F/M, Foreshadowing, Letters, i'd apologize for the fire motive but i'm not sorry at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 19:36:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledineden/pseuds/tangledineden
Summary: There's a certain light Rinea brought into his life Berkut just couldn't find anywhere else. Before her he was a man tangled - invested so heavily in Rigel he'd never found the time to untangle himself and just live. She gave him everything he didn't have, made him whole and filled in the holes of his soul. Everyday without her he missed her. And the days, while Rigel was at war, grew ever longer. He supposes that these letters were all he really had.





	All the Burning Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is @shepherdsfate. Come yell at me for my terrible writing or come say hi! Sorry for any grammar errors, I wrote this on my phone haha.

The spectral quiet of camp was something Berkut supposed he’d never get accustomed to. At least, he prayed he never would. The war had drug on long enough - should it last long enough for him to acclimate to the forward camps, he’d be quite upset.

The only illumination on his path was the small candle gripped in his hand, wax beginning to drop over his knuckles.

The path to the war tent was a long one from his personal one, but he knew it well. Perhaps his feet could follow it on their own, without the candle.

When he arrived he wasted no time in shuffling over to the writing desk. It was pocked with knife scratches and holes, but it served well enough.

He placed the candle holder down and the table, and the small maroon tent was lit with a murky brown light. With a methodical hand he reached for the stack of parchment and ink pot.

It was his nightly ritual, to come and write during the sleeping hours of night. It was perhaps the only solace he found in his recent days - after all, he knew well what was coming. The writing was on the wall; Rigel was losing the war. Losing to a band of pigshit commoners who barely knew how to hold a sword. It was pathetic. Even Berkut’s newest loyal knight Fernand held little optimism. Though perhaps he knew better than anyone how the so called Deliverance could fight. To speak to Rinea was his only comfort, his only peace from days full of waging battle after lost battle.

An expert hand dipped the quill in ink and began to scrawl across the page, hand moving faster than his brain could think out the words. It was alright, though. She knew the deepest parts of his soul and loved them - he held no fear of rejection for anything he could write, should her eyes find the page.

_My Darling Lady Rinea,_

_We’re losing._

_Hope among the ranks, and truly among myself, is desolate. Rebel forces are demolishing our numbers, and even when I myself have gone to battle them I have had to retreat._

_I don’t know what will happen should they make it to Rigel Castle. I fear for the safety of Uncle and myself. And gods, do I worry for yours. If I were to lose you I_

He had to set the quill down, run a hand over his face, and breathe.

_If I were to lose you I could never forgive the world. I’d reduce Valentia to dust if only to keep you safe, love. I swear to it._

_And true truth, sweet Rinea, is that I miss you. Sometimes I swear I can hear your laugh, but I turn and you’re not there. It’s the cruel world teasing me, I suppose, for my failures in the war._

_I miss the feeling of your hair under my fingers. The way you smile when I say something to make you laugh - you always close your eyes, and your nose crinkles just so. When I braid your hair it always falls out by noon, but you still ask me most every day - and I long to braid it now, so badly. I long to have you in my arms in my bed, to hold you as you sleep. And you look so, so beautiful in the moonlight as you sleep._

_No matter that happens here, I’m coming home to you. Just wait for me a while longer._

_I think I’ve found a new song for us to dance to. Perhaps I’ll write it out and send it to you._

_Always yours,_

~~_Lord_ ~~

_Berkut._

Sighing again, he placed his quill aside, leaning back in the chair. He longed for her in every way, and though the letters were so therapeutic, sometimes it was hard to bear. Hard to miss her so and not be able to find her.

He snatched the letter up and folded it, almost recklessly. Just small enough to hide inside the small carved box he carried with his few personal things. She’d given it to him before he’d gone - to keep anything he might find safe. All he ever put inside were the unsent letters he wrote every night.

Probably tomorrow, he’d receive a letter from Rinea - something general, something boring. Something clearly pre-approved by that witch of a mother she had. And he’d send an equally pale response back, just so she knew he was alive.

Perhaps when he returned and they wed, he’d give her the letters. Perhaps he’d burn them.

One last time he looked over the room. The flickering flame light danced in shadows across his face, glowing in his eyes in slow waltzes. Thoughts of her were all he seemed to have room for - all that burned in his heart.

Berkut leaned forward and blew out the candle.

The dust settled, and night rolled back in.


End file.
